Lost Cause
by nazzymcc
Summary: Tamoko knows this is a fight she can't win. BGI.
1. Wearing Your Wounds

Disclaiming disclaimer: Wizards of the Coast and Bioware owns all things Baldur's Gate, but Maera, who belongs to me.

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"Tamoko," the girl says slowly, "he's not worth dying for."

Tamoko considers that statement, and the speaker. The girl is taller than she, and pale-haired. Her round face would make her look younger than she really is but for the set of her jaw and the firmness of her eyes. It hasn't been that long since that rainy night on the Candlekeep road, but the child has been banished, and the woman has found her steel. He has crafted his own executioner. The pure irony of it all makes Tamoko want to laugh. Or cry. She's not sure. She had warned him it might come to this.

But not worth dying for? She can see the girl's point; after all, his plans for the Sword Coast are not exactly benevolent, and the personal pain and fear he has visited on her is considerable. He is ruthless, and he is driven. But wasn't that part of the attraction all along? His ambition, his will? For one who had spent her life only knowing what she _didn't_ want to do, was it any wonder Sarevok Anchev would be utterly fascinating? What must it be like, she had wondered on more than one occasion, to be so certain? For a little while, she'd almost felt that certainty too.

The longer she is silent, the more confident the girl becomes. She begins to step around, but Tamoko blocks her path with her blade swept low. "I'm sorry," Tamoko says, "but I've already told you I can't let you pass."

The girl's dark eyes flash. "Dammit, Tamoko, listen to yourself! He left you! He betrayed you! You don't owe him anything. You don't have to do this!"

She's right, of course. Tamoko could disappear tonight and he would never know. She could vanish, resume her travels, maybe even go home. There is no threat hanging over her head. But the girl is wrong, too, in a way. She speaks in the language of debt, but there is no balance sheet that must be cleared. There is only the power of memory.

She shakes her head and says, "You are young, Maera. You would not understand."

"Tamoko, what kind of hold does he have over you that you'd commit suicide for him?"

Only the hold of long nights and lazy mornings. The hold of simple words with indescribably complex meanings. The hold of a secret smile and a warm touch. The hold of passion and its fierce, glorious abandon. The hold of hope, that things might one day be as they were before. But she is no fool. She had followed him as far as she could, and she has no illusions that he will ever return from the path he has followed thus far.

"I love a man who no longer exists," Tamoko says. It does not hurt to admit that now. Like being swept into the sea, the shock has worn off and now she is simply numb. "Why should I cling to life, knowing that?" The girl's eyes soften with pity, and Tamoko is angry, suddenly. "But I do not need you to feel for me! If you are as honorable as you claim, you would respect that!"

The girl's voice, though steady, is slightly unsure. She puts up a good front, but she is still so very young. Tamoko knows she isn't that much older herself, but she had to grow up much faster. "I respect _your_ honor, Tamoko. I respect what you've done for me. I don't want it to end this way."

It truly is irony fit for the stage – bards would lap it up like cream. Tamoko feels the laugh in her throat again, but knows she can't give it voice, because it would probably sound too much like a sob. No, this is not the ending she wanted either, but here it is. She closes her eyes, remembering that first night, and wonders briefly if there was any time she could have changed the turn of events that led her to this. Or had they always been doomed?


	2. This Town is Crazy

Tamoko's father had given up on trying to correct her by the time she was fourteen, when she stole her first katana. The youngest of four, she was the only girl, and perhaps it was that fact, compounded by a motherless childhood and a personality that seemed designed for obstinacy from birth, that made her as she was. When she was sixteen, tired of catching her practicing arms on the sly and answering the door at midnight to find her in the grip of some disgruntled guard or other, her father sent her away, to an order of nuns in the countryside. _They_ would teach her discipline, he said, or she would die trying.

She was packed off in the company of her middle brother (his punishment for a few recent indiscretions of his own), but after a week on the road, she gave him the slip and disappeared into the countryside. She felt guilty about that for years afterward, because he had always been her favorite. But whatever disgrace he suffered from losing her would pale in comparison to the death of the soul waiting for her in the life her father had chosen for her. No, there were times when selfishness was simply the only choice. Part of her always hoped her brothers could forgive her. Her father could go hang.

She had fled, and in six years, she had fought and explored her way across a continent. She had crossed deserts and tundra, traversed wood and plain, navigated river and sea. She brawled, stole, and adventured for her bread. Sometimes she even worked honestly for it, if she had to. She discovered that taverns held the real knowledge of a town's inner workings, whores knew who wielded real power, and thieves could always find the best weapons and the cheapest wine. They were valuable lessons, and she treasured them.

She came to Baldur's Gate short of coin, as usual, and after a week with her ears pressed to every informative keyhole she could find, she decided on her next move. Rieltar Anchev of the Iron Throne merchant house was rising in public estimation. Such men liked to cut a figure, and she knew that her appearance, so exotic to Western eyes, would lend him style. Outward show, after all, was everything, whether for lords, merchants, or sellswords with unusually shaped eyes. She offered him her sword and was hired on the spot, as she had expected. She felt she had learned how the world worked.

She was wrong, of course, but she thought so at the time.

Her first real bit of work for Anchev was a smallish get-together for a hundred or so of his closest friends and dearest acquaintances, thrown to make a crowd of investors feel important. So there was a great deal of food, drink, and deeply inane conversation, none of which she could partake in as she was on duty. She didn't mind being denied the latter, but the former looked far more appetizing than it should. More than once, her hand hovered over an unattended plate of tiny, beautifully decorated cakes before being snatched back in self-imposed denial.

"No one is watching but me," said the voice, resonantly deep, and dry with ironic detachment. "And I won't tell."

That was her first experience of him – his remarkable voice. She whirled about, furious that anyone had managed to get behind her, and found herself having to crane her neck to look into the face of her momentary nemesis. He was incredibly tall, even for a Westerner, his skin a dark, fascinating bronze, his head freshly shaven for this public event. The corner of his mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"You wear our livery, but I do not recognize you."

"You call it 'our', but I do not recognize _you_," she returned, still irritated such a large man had snuck up on her so. Another bodyguard, perhaps, seeking to amuse himself at her expense? She had no use for such games. She had sacrificed many virtues in her life, but dignity would never be one of them.

The mouth twitch eased into a curve. "I am Sarevok Anchev," he said. She started with surprise; she recognized the name. This was no colleague - he was her employer's son and heir! But he could not have looked less like the pale, slender man who had hired her had he been part troll. Sarevok recognized her confusion, and grunted, "He is not my father."

"Ah." Her flat-footedness was ebbing away, replaced by curiosity. She eyed him for a long moment, then realized she still had yet to introduce herself. "I am Tamoko."

His eyes were surprisingly light, considering his dark coloration. They were a pale, golden brown, almost like some bird of prey. He seemed to be considering her with equal interest. "Just Tamoko?"

"Family names are not common where I come from."

"And that is?"

"Very far away."

"Well, then, Tamoko from very far away, how did you come to be in the service of the Iron Throne?"

She shrugged. "I needed money. Being a bodyguard is easy, and generally pays well."

"I would think it is easy if you let everyone get behind you with so little effort."

"I am still trying to figure out how you did that," she said, scowling faintly. The sour cast of her features seemed to entertain him.

"Practice." He reached one long arm around her to pluck a goblet of wine off the tray of a passing server. The man was about to object when he saw the offender's face and hastily kept walking. Sarevok lowered the wine between them; the breath of air on her cheek from the passage of his hand seemed to tingle strangely; she did not know why. "As I said…I would not say a word."

"I should not drink while I am engaged," she said, glancing down into the cup. It was almost clear, and her mouth watered. She hated the heavy, dark wines that were so popular here, and had been overjoyed to discover that they did actually make light wines like the colorless rice wine of her homeland. They were just harder to find. She shot a glance up at Sarevok, who was smiling slightly, almost as if he knew. She raised her hand, touching the cool metal of the goblet. His hand shifted, and their fingers brushed. She took a drink.

"I hate these sorts of parties," Sarevok said quietly. "I'm leaving. You should come with me."

She tilted her head. "First you would have me drink while on duty, and then you would have me abandon my post altogether?"

"Yes. Shall we?"

It was late, and the streets of Baldur's Gate were quiet. A pair of Flaming Fist guards loitered under a street torch across from the Iron Throne headquarters; Sarevok stiffened slightly as he and Tamoko passed them. "They are watching," she murmured.

"Yes," he replied, his face still. "They are not our enemies, but they are not our friends, either."

"I see." She carefully tucked that bit of information away. "Is such factionalism common, in this city?"

"Ambition will always be met by resistance," he said, with an air of nonchalance. "Either by those whose own ambitions are not complimentary, or by those who are simply afraid."

"And what are the ambitions of the Iron Throne?"

"Power, of course," he said simply. They walked on without speaking, past a tavern where boisterous laughter echoed out into the street, past closed up shops shuttered against the night. There seemed to be no particular destination as they walked, and Tamoko did not know Baldur's Gate well enough yet to do more than follow Sarevok's lead. She glanced up at him; his dark face was expressionless, and she felt as though she should say something to break the silence, but she could not think of anything. There was something about him, an aura, a presence that intrigued her. She found herself watching him walk. Most of the men his size she had know were brutes, using their sheer overwhelming mass as a weapon in and of itself. But he moved with a strange, supple energy that surprised her. Her stomach felt odd, tingling and tightened, almost as if…butterflies? She felt her face color. He was her employer's heir, she reminded herself sternly. She could have a man if she really wanted one. There was no point in complicating matters unnecessarily, and she had made a career of avoiding entanglements. She would do well to remember her own lessons on that front. She was so busy reminding herself of this that she did not immediately notice he had stopped walking and was looking at her.

Golden torchlight, and just a hint of the silvery moon reflected on his eyes. She turned, and looked back at him as he slowly closed the distance of a few paces that separated them. She realized he had been considering her just as she had been him. "You are very lovely," he said quickly, and something in his tone made her want to smile. Was he _nervous_? Perhaps she simply flattered herself to think so. "I was surprised to see you this evening. I had no idea the new hire was…" His eyes, holding hers, wavered, and then swept over her as if he could not help himself. She was suddenly very aware that her breasts rose with every breath, and she knew he was as well. "You were not what I was expecting," he finished.

"You were not my expectation, either," she said, oddly distracted by the way the torchlight highlighted the line of his throat leading down to his broad collarbone, barely revealed by the slightly open collar of his shirt.

"Because I am not some pale, robed-wrapped merchant whelp?" he asked, smiling faintly.

"Yes," she admitted. "When I was told Master Rieltar had a son, I…"

"He is not my father," Sarevok repeated. "I was a foundling."

"Oh." She felt foolish. "I'm very sorry."

"Once I was as well." His expression grew distant for a moment, then he focused back on her. "But no longer. I have recently learned the truth of my origins, and that knowledge has provided me with great comfort."

"Then I am glad."

"Why? You've known me for barely an hour."

"I suspect," she said, taking a bold step closer to him, coming within a few handspans of him, "it is for the same reason you have told me at all."

"Perhaps so." His voice had dropped to a soft rumble that seemed to echo through her. Their eyes met, and she felt her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her skin was feverishly hot, but she shivered even as her heart took up a triple pace in her chest. Some tiny part of her mind shouted at her, repeating to her there was no need to be a fool. She could have any man if she wanted one.

He was leaning down, one hand raised to gently catch her throat, his thumb dragging in sweetly agonizing slowness over her jawline. She gave a little push with her heels, rising onto her toes, and met his lips.

She wanted this one.


	3. They Know Your Secrets

Tamoko hurried down a back hallway towards Rieltar Anchev's office, and was almost there when a hand seized her belt and dragged her into the brazier alcove. In a few weeks, the weather would be cool enough to require its heat and light, but for now, it stood unlit, and the alcove was dark. Dark enough for Sarevok to conceal himself.

He kissed her, a slow, sensuous thing, all loose lips and questing tongue, and she was briefly irritated with herself that her arms snaked around his neck without a second's protest. They should not be doing this. They both knew Master Rieltar would not approve of his heir keeping intimate company with the help.

Perhaps that lent the matter extra spice.

"What are you doing, Sarevok?" she whispered, when their lips had parted far enough to allow speech.

"I was pleased to see you," he replied, his innocence false as the contents of a coiner's purse.

"You were lying in wait for me." She stepped back, straightening her shirt.

"Only because I was pleased to see you."

She rolled her eyes. "Master Anchev is waiting for me. You will make me late for my summons."

"Where were these complaints a moment ago?"

"I was occupied."

He smiled at her, one of his knowing half-smiles. "He has summoned you on my behalf, actually." She raised her eyebrows. "I am planning an excursion, and I am required to bring a retainer. Fortunately, I am free to chose who that retainer is."

"And you do not think he will find it suspicious that you've chosen me?" She began walking down the hall once more, and Sarevok followed.

"We have been discreet thus far. If he found it suspicious when I mentioned your name, he gave no indication." He snorted disdainfully. "It is not as if the man is difficult to read."

Tamoko's mouth tightened in uneasy disapproval. Rieltar Anchev was the source of her wages; she had only as much loyalty to him as he could afford. And if Sarevok had no love for the man who had raised him, that was his affair. She was hardly in a position to lecture others on proper familial relations. But she could not help but worry that the antagonism between elder and younger Anchev boded ill for the Iron Throne itself. In times not so far past, such obvious fractures would have left her planning her exit strategy. She hated complications. She hated being caught in others' messes.

But she liked Sarevok. And as more than just an occasional (and very enjoyable) bedmate. She liked his company, liked matching wits with him, liked winning those sly smiles. The previous week, he had returned from a trade trip with a gift for her, a necklace of polished flamedance beads. "I thought of you," he had said simply, when she expressed her surprise.

She hated complications. But not as much, she found, as she hated the thought of leaving, and never seeing him again. And if she thought about that contradiction for too long, her stomach knotted, and her head began to hurt.

She pushed the gloomy thoughts from her mind. They were almost to Master Rieltar's door. "So where are we going?" she asked. "Or must I wait to be told?"

"Candlekeep," Sarevok said, as they stopped before the carved double doors.

"The library?" Her puzzlement must have been clearly written in her expression, because he chuckled.

"Be sure to act that surprised when he tells you." Sarevok looked carefully about the hall for any watching eyes, then stole another kiss.

"But why?"

"I have some research questions."

* * *

The chill of autumn was in the air as they departed Baldur's Gate a few days later, and it sharpened as they turned onto the Coast Way towards Candlekeep, the salt sea air giving it bite. After two days of travel, the great walls of the keep rose before them, and Sarevok unwrapped the gift book that would buy their entry. He presented it to the gate guard, and they waited before the massive portcullis as their offering was judged. He seemed restless and edgy as the minutes passed, and that struck her as odd. Impatience was not normally part of his nature.

"A strange place for a library," Tamoko commented, holding her cloak closed tight about her throat. "One would think the damp would be an issue."

He shot her a quick glance, amusement momentarily replacing the distraction. "Only you would think of that."

The book was deemed an appropriate addition to the great library's collection, and they were admitted through the mighty gates and directed to the inn, located on the west wall. Every description of Candlekeep Tamoko had ever heard spoke of the place in hushed, reverent tones, as if it were some sort of shrine to knowledge where the cloistered Readers never spoke above a whisper, lest them disturb the spirits of wisdom. But the broad courtyard before the central keep reminded her more of a small town common than anything else. The guards at the gate loitered with the energized apathy of city watch the world over, and the scholars who watched their passage would no doubt gossip over their appearance at first convenience, just like any other old men. Porters carried laundry and pushed muck barrows. People hailed one another and stopped for small talk. The only thing missing, Tamoko thought, was the sight of children at play, though she supposed that this was not the most child-friendly of communities. She said as much to Sarevok, who replied distractedly, "Oh, there have been children here."

She wanted to ask what he meant, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, and no sooner had they deposited their baggage in their room than he was gone, setting off for the library with barely a word to her. She watched him go with momentary disquiet, then shrugged to herself, and set out to explore her surroundings.

She stopped for a moment near a low-roofed shed built against the wall. It provided a good vantage point for watching the human bustle around her, and was out of the wind. A dozen paces away stood a young woman, a fair-haired girl of eighteen years at the oldest, impressively tall and more striking than pretty. She wore a blue, knee-length coat, and carried a wooden practice sword, resting it on her shoulder. Her dark eyes scanned the courtyard with anxious irritation; she was waiting for someone. She briefly caught Tamoko's eye, and gave her the absent smile and nod of a local greeting a visitor, before returning to her watch. She didn't have to wait much longer.

A short, slender girl, about the same age, tore around the corner and skidded to a stop mere inches from the waiting sword-bearer. "There you are!" the blonde cried. "I was about to give up on you."

"Sorry…Mae…Puffguts…" panted the smaller one.

This seemed a familiar refrain. "Was it really Winthrop, Im, or did you just lose track of time?" The word _again_ went unsaid, but only vocally.

The look she received for this remark was probably the hardest that guileless face was capable of. Tamoko smiled inwardly, noting the small girl's restless hands and bright blue eyes. She was like a magpie, curious and quick. And the tall one, whose mind was in obvious, constant motion behind her intense eyes, was a student. Not just of the sword, but of anything she could find. Tamoko's interest was piqued. They should have seemed out of place, and yet they did not. The great library, it seemed, was full of surprises.

"Anyway," said the first, "let's go. I've got lessons in half an hour, and I do not want to get yelled at again. Especially when it's not my fault." She turned and headed for a nearby doorway, and the little one rolled her eyes and made a talking gesture with her hand before following.

There were other such bits of street theatre to watch as the afternoon wore on. A pair of guards argued as they passed her vantage point. "Damn it, Hull, I am _not_ going back to the barracks for you again!" A priest wearing a holy symbol of Oghma shrugged at the complaining stablehand beside him. "You know good and well who took it. Go talk to Winthrop if you're so upset; he'll probably be able to shake it out of her." Tamoko chuckled; she had a feeling she knew who he was talking about now. And a passing scholar consoled her companion, "Don't even bother going to Ulraunt. Tethtoril will help you out."

The sun started sinking over the western wall early in that season, and Tamoko returned to the inn to wait for Sarevok shortly before sunset. It was a long wait. Hours passed with no sign of him, which let her far too much time for rumination and too few methods of distraction.

It was one of the better inns she had stayed at, she thought as she tried to find some new detail of the common room with which to interest herself. Though she supposed any visitor who could afford the rather steep entry requirements would have reason to expect decent accommodation. The little magpie she had spotted earlier apparently worked there, as a bargirl and runner, and her friend had just entered, stopping at the bar to talk to her, when Sarevok finally returned.

His eyes were almost feverishly bright, and he clutched a thick notebook in his hands as if it were a holy relic. "Tamoko," he murmured, sitting next to her, leaning very close, "I have discovered so much! In just one day!"

"Sarevok, what are you even studying? You haven't said a word about it. What has you so excited?"

"The words of Alaundo himself!" he whispered, jabbing a finger at his notebook. "His prophecies! I could study them for months; I hate that we only have a few days. Damn Rieltar. There is so much to learn!" He was rarely so animated; she was caught up in his excitement, even if she still had no idea what he was talking about. "And more than that…my sources were right. There's another like me here."

"Like you? In what way?"

"We share the same father." He gestured his head towards the bar. "There she is."

The tall blonde girl in the blue coat stood with her elbows on the bar, unaware of their eyes, craning her neck to follow her friend's progress in the backroom. Tamoko shook her head in confusion. "She looks nothing like you. And how do you know this to be true?"

Sarevok took her hand. "Come with me. We should talk more privately."

Once in their room, he tossed her the notebook. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she began to work her way through his somewhat tangled notes, as he paced between the wall and door. "It all makes such perfect sense! All of it! Winski was right! Every word of it! Now, how does he know? And what more does he know that he has not said?"

Tamoko looked up from his notes, a sensation of intense cold settling in her stomach. "Sarevok…this is…this is about the death of Bhaal."

He stopped mid-pace and faced her, his golden eyes burning. "Yes."

"And he had mortal children?"

Sarevok nodded. "Yes, he did."

"And…and you think you're one of them?"

"I _know_ that I am." He sat on the bed beside her. "Winski Perorate told me that I am, not long before I met you. But I had no proof until now."

"Perorate? Master Rieltar's factor?" She felt as though she were miles behind him, trying desperately to follow his trail with only broken branches and bent grass to mark the way. "Why would he tell you such a thing?"

"No doubt he imagines it will give him some hold over me," Sarevok said dismissively. "He is the sort to prefer orchestration from the shadows." A grim little smile crossed his face. "He can pull my strings if it pleases him. For now, at least."

Tamoko stared down at the open book in her lap. He had copied a series of couplets in his neat, even handwriting. The words 'mortal progeny' had been underlined several times, and beside them, in the margin, the note 'others = siblings'. "That girl downstairs. She is…like you?"

"She is. Her name is Maera." His eyes went distant for a moment. "We are blood kin, and if I am reading Alaundo's words correctly, our fates are bound to one another."

Something in his tone sent an odd tingle down Tamoko's spine, a mix of such conflicting emotions she was not sure she could sort one from another. Fear, fascination, disquiet, and a surprising hint of jealousy. Had his eyes ever lit like that at the thought of _her_? He turned his blazing gaze to her, and a shiver swept over her. She could not have stopped her hand from reaching out to touch his face if she had wanted to. He turned his head slightly to kiss the heel of her hand.

"I am meant for much greater things than even I had imagined. I have always known it, in my heart, but now I see the truth of it before me." His eyes were fixed on her face, and she was breathless before the force of them. "Stay with me, Tamoko," he breathed. "I have within me the potential for things so great I can only imagine the edges of them now. But I know I want you with me when I try for that summit."

She could not speak. She felt as though she had stepped into a maelstrom, something huge and roaring, higher and deeper and darker than she could have ever imagined. Dead gods and their mortal children, prophecies and fate? What had she become a part of, stepping into Sarevok Anchev's life? She was just a sellsword, a wanderer who had taken a liking to her employer's son. What madness had she entered?

"Tamoko?" His voice, resonant and soft as velvet, seemed to echo in her ears. She drew an uneven breath, unable to tear her gaze from him. His eyes smoldered with a fire she could not begin to understand. But she wanted to. She wanted to know what had set this fire within him. She wanted to share it. She was lost in the whirlwind, but maybe if she were lost with him, it would not matter. Gods help her, this was nothing so prosaic as friendly lust. Somehow, her heart was his. Perhaps it had happened in that moment. Perhaps it had always been so. He reached for her, and she let him silence the confusion, the questions, the foreboding. When she found her voice again, it was for his name.

* * *

She dreamed that night that she stepped off the edge of a precipice, and for an instant hung in the air, rather than falling to earth. In that moment, she felt the sweetest ecstasy she had ever known, but then it was gone, and gravity claimed her.


	4. Cut to the Bone

It was chilly for a spring night, and the rain didn't help. Tamoko huddled deep in her heavy cloak, glancing uneasily at Sarevok, his face dimly lit by their small highwayman's lamp. It didn't matter how many times she asked, or how he phrased the answer. She still didn't know why they were here.

Their visit to Candlekeep the previous year had wrought some change in him, and every passing day made it harder to ignore. He could not keep Bhaal from his mind or Alaundo from his lips, it seemed. She might have called it an obsession, if she had not known him so well. But she knew his mind, in all its churning, seeking, and grasping, had simply found its focus, the one thing above all else he could turn his considerable attentions to.

She wished profoundly that it could be something else.

It was not just Bhaal, or Alaundo. It was the girl as well, the girl from Candlekeep he called his sister. Tamoko did not like to fancy herself jealous, because he expressed no desire for her, and he certainly had not vacated her bed. If anything, the change ought to be counted a positive in that regard. Some months before, he had declared himself tired to hiding their affair from Rieltar, and in the expected shouting match, the old merchant informed his foster son that he had greater aspirations for him than 'some harlot foreigner who can't keep her legs shut' which had earned a dismissive laugh from Sarevok.

"Strange how your opinion turns, _father_," he'd said, disdain making a mockery of the title. "You liked her well enough when she was in your train for all the other rich old men to lick their lips over. She may be a prop to you, but she is more to me, and my life is not yours to chart. Not anymore, and not ever again." Ever since, Tamoko had been on his arm for all of Baldur's Gate to see.

She had never given much mind to being his secret. After all, she had secrets enough of her own, kept and carefully shepherded, and she was hardly the sort to barter her lover's name for any kind of concession or special treatment, much to Sarevok's exasperated amusement. All the same, it was gratifying to see the fine ladies of Baldur's Gate curl their lips and narrow their eyes when she, a nobody from nowhere, entered a room with him. More than that, though, it was the outward sign of everything she had felt in those hidden nights and over-too-soon mornings – that she was his, body and soul, and they belonged together, each made sharper and stronger by the other. And now the mornings could last as long as they liked.

But still there was the girl.

Sometimes she would walk in at the tail end of conversations, when Sarevok was in conference with Winski Perorate, and she would hear her name – Maera. It was scribbled in the margins of his journals like an invocation, and doodled on scraps of paper like a totem. He was an orphan, she told herself – of course his mind should turn to family, even if there was no explanation of how they were related that made even the slightest sense to her. She kept her confusion on this point to herself, however. He had plans she _could_ understand; plans to raise up Baldur's Gate over Amn, the Iron Throne over Baldur's Gate, himself over the Iron Throne, and those she could devote herself to without question. For he was the most brilliant man she had ever known, sly and subtle, and she had no doubts at his fitness to rule.

She still didn't know what those plans had to do with why they were on the Candlekeep road that night, the cold rain trickling down from the heavens, with a pair of half-ogre hirelings grunting to themselves behind. "You will see," he had said softly, as he often did these days, and she had begun to fear that she never would. It was what he wanted, though, so she waited with him, hand anxious at the hilt of her katana, while the night deepened.

At last there was movement ahead, and Sarevok smiled to himself, slipping down the visor of his horned helmet. Tamoko tried not to let her distaste show. She hated that thing. When he wore it, he looked like a stranger.

Two figures were visible in the gloom, carrying a dim lamp not unlike their own. It was a man and a woman, the former clad in long robes and moving with the careful stride of active age, and the latter with a spring of youthful nerves in her step. Tamoko felt herself stiffen. Was that-?

Sarevok stepped towards them. "Hand over your ward, old man."

A flare of light from the lamp caught the man's face in the shadows of his hood, and Tamoko saw him close his eyes with resignation, as if he had been expecting this. "I will do nothing of the sort," he replied, his voice steady.

At his shoulder, his female companion shifted her weight, her hood slipping back just far enough to make out her face, and Tamoko's heart sank. It was. "Gorion," Maera muttered, "what's going on?"

Without taking his eyes from Sarevok, Gorion reached back a hand to squeeze Maera's wrist. "Leave us be," he said. "We are simply travelers in search of warmth and dry for the night."

"Don't lie to me, sage. Give me the girl, or I will take her from you." The old man straightened by a faction, but the shift in posture seemed to change everything about him. Tamoko wanted to cry out a warning – there was power in his bearing, and magic in the air around him – but Sarevok seemed unconcerned, sliding his greatsword from its sheath.

Gorion spared a glance over his shoulder at Maera. "Run, my child."

She shook her head, afraid but unwilling to give it quarter. There was something to admired in that. "No."

Something crackled in his eyes, something so fierce it took Tamoko a moment to recognize it for what it was. Her defiance had never earned her such a look. All she had ever seen was bitterness and resentment. Anger, when shone through the glass of love, hardly looked like anger at all. Was that how fathers were supposed to look at their children? "Maera," he snapped, voice like a whip, "GO."

That was all it took. She stumbled back on her heels, eyes wide, turning to make for the road. Sarevok growled with frustration, raising a fist that brought the half-ogres to his side, but before he could take a step, fire burst from the sage's hands, impervious to the rain, following by a flash of magical energy so bright Tamoko had to turn her head lest she be blinded. But the roars of pain and wet, heavy thumps told her the half-ogres had already outlived their usefulness. Sarevok gave a hard, ragged cry, and her vision returned to see him clutch his side, wounded by the mage's fire. All admiration and uncertainty vanished; no one had the right to hurt him and live.

But before she could even draw her katana, it was already over. Gorion didn't even cry out when the greatsword pierced him. He simply crumpled to the ground, his blood dripping from Sarevok's sword, mingled with the rain. He stood over the old man, breathing heavily, one arm pressed hard to his wounded side. "Sarevok!" She hurried to him.

"Get her." The words issued from between gritted teeth. She moved closer, saw the scorches on his armor, and instead took the sword from his weakened hands. How he could wield that thing, she did not know. It was so heavy she had to immediately rest it on the ground. His eyes flashed, both at her heel dragging and at her treatment of his weapon. "I told you to go after her!"

"You are wounded," she said. "I will not leave you."

"This was my chance!" he half-howled, ripping his helmet from his head in frustration. She clenched her jaw, tugging at the straps of his breastplate. Burns by magic were even worse than their mundane counterparts.

"What does it matter?" She didn't look at him, too busy with the stubborn armor, and irritated with the stubborn man wearing it. "Her guardian is dead, and she is obviously no woodsman. She will die in the wilderness and that will be the end of it!" At least she could hope so.

"Don't you see what it matters?"

"No!" With a jerk, she finally loosed the breastplate strap and glared up at him. "No, I do _not_ see! Why are we here, lurking like bandits in the night? Who is she, Sarevok? Why is she so important? You have such great plans; what does some librarian's brat have to do with any of it?"

He looked down at her with heavy eyes, pain finally catching up with the anger and adrenaline. "I've already told you, Tamoko. She is my sister. And she either will be my greatest ally, or she will be the one who kills me."


End file.
